Choices
by Clez
Summary: Some choices are just easier to make than others, as Huckleberry Finn discovers one fateful evening A sort of missing scene before the movie's beginning. Rated for language.


**Author's Note: **Okay, so figure this one out, guys. It's Christmas Day that I wrote this, sitting upstairs on my own, not allowed on the computer cuz it's un-festive (Bah, humbug!) Hehehehe. So I wrote it all by hand, and I forgot how much that _hurt_! Damn... my wrist still aches :) Anyway, this one is very depressing for Christmas, and it's not an entirely original idea. In fact, this is kind of a continuation of a flashback Tom has in my long story Out of Sight, Out of Mind. So, let me know what you think, and I hope you all had a good day! Oh! P.s. If you want to see who I base _my_ version of Huck on, check out my page, you can get the link on my bio. He's in the Fanfiction and original characters section :)

*          *          *

            With wide eyes, feeling his heart skip a beat, Special Agent Huckleberry Finn almost dropped his twin six-shooters in dismay, his whole body tensing, breathing rapid and unsteady. 

            Standing next to him, his partner was almost the mirror image. Special Agent Thomas Sawyer's face was twisted into an expression of horrified rage. His green eyes blazed with anger, and his hands trembled noticeably. Droplets of rain water trickled down his youthful face from his blonde bangs of tousled hair, and his chest heaved with the panting breaths that signalled the beginnings of a mild panic.

            Huck shook his brown mess of hair off his brow to let his once-mischievous chocolate eyes take in the dire situation. He shivered involuntarily, though whether from the biting chill of the rain or the sudden fear, Huck did not want to guess.

            A dry chuckle shattered the tension like fragile glass under too much strain, the sound echoing horribly off the bare walls of the dilapidated building, carrying to the two American Agents with startling clarity. The voice that followed was harsh and croaky, sounding as though it were from a throat long abused by too much smoke or alcohol... perhaps both; "So, you have found me at last." Another laugh. "You have been shadowing me for nearly a week!"

            Something about 'The Phantom's' accent confused Huck, and he furrowed his brow. If he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn it was false. "What do you want?"

            Tom, his oldest and closest friend, shifted by his side, no doubt itching to use his own Colt pistols in his hands.

            "Firstly," the masked man began, gesturing theatrically to the two young men, "it would do us all a great favour if you dropped your guns... both of you." He stood, staring at them cruelly with his one exposed eye, and sneered.

            Neither Huck nor Tom made a move to comply, both too stubborn for their own good.

            _I have a terrible feeling about this_, was all Huck kept hearing in his head, repeated over and over again.

            The small handful of daunting, stoic men flanking the caped bulk that was the Phantom made it known that they had their own guns, and were clearly not afraid to use them. 

            As for the Phantom himself, he simply cocked his head and cleared his throat, waiting.

            Huck shook his head slowly with a sorrowful sigh, carefully flipping the pistols so that he gripped the barrels now, and crouched to lay them on the floor. Tom did not move, face set in a grim expression, eyes staring fixatedly at the smug man before them some twenty feet away.

            "Tom..." Huck mumbled cautiously, looking him in the face as his friend glanced to him. Huck nodded to the floor, throwing Tom a pleading gaze.

            Tom closed his eyes for only a moment, but when he looked back at Huck, his concern was unmistakable. Steadily and reluctantly, he lowered the guns to the dusty, grimy floorboards, eyes now fixed on the hideous face of their target once again.

            "Well, well," the 'foreign' man began with a dry laugh, "now what? We seem to have reached a dead end here, gentlemen. What am I to do?"

            _You know very well what you want to do, you sick bastard._

            The one exposed eye flickered between the two bedraggled Secret Service Agents, and he feigned a look of deep contemplation. His head turned to his obvious right-hand man, and he tilted it ever so slightly to one side. "What would you do, Dante?"

            The leering, short-haired man beside him grinned maniacally, wild eyes never leaving Huck and Tom. "Need you ask?"

            "Ah, but of course! How silly of me." The Phantom clearly found this amusing. "You would kill them both horribly and leave their mutilated bodies behind as an example..."

            The long pause that trailed along torturously after that sentence was almost unbearable. But suddenly, Huck felt very calm, every fibre in his being prepared, apparently ready for what was to come... he could feel it, almost sense it.

            _Not Tom_, he thought pleadingly inside his head, the same old brotherly concern ebbing within him strongly now, _just... please not Tom_.

            "It seems such a waste." The large man heaved an exaggerated sigh. Huck suddenly felt like strangling every last breath out of the monster, even as he persisted, "But perhaps by killing one of them, the survivor and their whole stubborn country will know to keep out of what they cannot possibly comprehend... or manage." He cackled, and drew a pistol. The barrel landed so that it was pointing directly at Tom's chest. Huck's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, a horrible choking, suffocating sensation rising within. His stomach clenched so much it hurt.

            "If you're going to shoot me, then get it over with," Tom growled spitefully, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

            "Shut up, Tom!" Huck hissed in warning and stared up at the Phantom, realising how clear his silent plead was in his brown eyes. The armed man met his gaze.

            "How very noble and _stubborn_," he said, addressing Tom, and then added to Huck, "... and how very touching."

            _Please... go on, do it. C'mon! Please..._

            "If you are certain..." The eye of the Phantom narrowed.

            Huck swallowed, gritting his teeth and setting his jaw in a determined fashion that the villain obviously saw and understood.

            "Very well."

            The gun had whirled to change targets and subsequently fired so quickly, that for a while, Huck felt no pain at all... only utter calm.

            "Oh god, no..." Tom gasped in horror, and his eyes turned to the Phantom just in time to witness his hasty retreat, the peals of laughter still audible. "You bastard!" Tom shouted after him, his voice catching, his emotions and shock catching up with him.

            It was only when Tom looked back at him with wide green eyes that Huck took in what had really happened.

            He had been shot... in the chest.

            The pain hit him then, mercilessly, and he started to collapse, feeling his life bleed away.

            Tom was there at once to catch him, and lowered with him to the floor. Huck could see the look of terror on his best friend's face, and despite himself he laughed.

            "You goddamn idiot!" Tom chided, voice unsteady, supporting Huck's head with a hand as he shook off his jacket with the other. "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" He placed the now-folded coat under Huck's head, and looked at the wound. "Oh god..."

            Huck smiled, though any movement caused another wave of agony. "You're welcome, Sawyer."

            "Hold on, I'm gonna go get help," Tom told him desperately, moving to stand, nearly slipping on one of his own discarded guns.

            Huck grabbed him by the front of his shirt and waistcoat, stopping his friend. He shook his head slowly, eyes closing for just a moment. His breathing was gradually becoming more and more difficult. "No," he panted, "it's too late for that, Tom..."

            "Why, Huck... why?" Tom collapsed to his knees again by his friend's side, pressing his hands over the bullet wound to try and stem the terrible flow of blood.

            Huck's vision was clouding now. He didn't have much time left, he knew. "Because we've _always_ watched out for each other, Tom... you and me. You're my best friend, I couldn't let him kill you."

            The tears in Tom Sawyer's eyes shone now with painful clarity, and there was an unmistakable beginning of a sob in his normally confident tone as he said, "Why is this any better, dammit? This isn't fair... I can't watch you die." He shook his head vehemently, a single tear breaking through his defences.

            _Good old Tom Sawyer_, Huck thought, his strength ever-waning, _trying to hide his real emotions, even from me. He doesn't understand._

            "It's okay," Huck mumbled, his ability to speak any louder gone now, lost forever to a force he couldn't escape. "Don't worry about me. Just... do me a favour... okay?"

            Hands still desperately covering the fatal wound that was slowly taking Huck away from him, Tom nodded, closing his teary eyes for a moment.

            Huck landed a hand on Tom's arm and managed to say, "Take care of yourself... I know you'll be fine."

            "No," Tom sobbed, no longer able to fight the grief, "I can't do this... please don't do this to me, Huckleberry."

            Huck stared into Tom Sawyer's eyes, and in his last moment of life, he smiled at the memories of their past together.

            With an odd sense of relief and calm, Huckleberry Finn breathed his last.

            Tom Sawyer stared at the dead body of his best friend in horror and disbelief. This couldn't be real... it had to be a nightmare.

            But he knew -though it hurt more than anything he'd ever known- that this had truly happened.

            His grief overtaking him then, he leaned over Huck's lifeless body, almost protectively. His blood-stained hands hugged his head as he sobbed uncontrollably, his sorrow wracking his whole form. In that time of utter sorrow and overwhelming loss, there was only one certainty...

            ... Tom Sawyer would have his revenge...


End file.
